#richardson - Hello Poetry

Rick Richardson Poems: Pirates Cove Water wives live sheltered lives Amongst the coves where pirates rove Daily catch is makers match Where red hot stoves hide fresh baked loaves Water men are thick and thin So often strove where shipmates hove Water child is often wild The treasure trove where pirates roved 19Mar14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem Dead Poets Their words. Like the softest cannon fire. Shrapnel finding every mark. In blood and brain and bone and heart. Leaving us to bleed for more. Till fire, now silenced turns to dark. 3/30/14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Rick Richardson Poem Ci Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky Haloed sundogs clinging to white mares’ tails Storied concentric glories way up high I’ll leave a soft rainbow colored contrail Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky Flying towards the sun’s healing golden crown Come and sing when you see me sailing by Let go the darkness and let light resound Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky Shards of memories and rose colored ice My love my love my love let go the sigh Please remember me to the by and by 3March14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem Upon the Stones Upon the stones the lichen grows For those asleep in earth below And those awake who tears do weep To green the grass with sorrow’s seep To honor love their hearts bestow The lichen sleeps beneath the snow Through cold and ice of winter woe Awaits the warmth and summer’s creep Upon the stones the lichen grows In shadow rain or summer glow It hears the words of belle or beau It fears not time or grounds man’s sweep The lichen guards eternal sleep For here in each and every row Upon the stones the lichen grows 7Mar14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem Wall Was built a wall of loneliness The blocks were made of hopelessness No door, no gate, no openings A moat within the inner ring The sides sloped down to emptiness Was kept away the happiness With salty tears so copious The songbirds cried and took to wing Was built a wall of loneliness The sky lay down in weariness Grey clouds did tire of dreariness So steep the walls no vine could cling So cold the wall kept out the spring All hearts cried out in brokiness Was built a wall of loneliness. 26Mar14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem A Dog In My Garden His dog died, and that’s all there was to it. Except it wasn’t. Those words in between, the missing of a friend, the times relived; companion dog that did him in. Joyful. Bit his heart and made him write such words so right, that I went home and kissed my dog and played with her in the garden. And we both lay down in the dirt, and will again tonight, and every night. Until she sleeps. And I with Daisy. All because his dog died.

0

Jan 28

Jan 28, 2026 at 8:59 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Some Poems of the late Rick Richardson

Rick Richardson Poems: Pirates Cove Water wives live sheltered lives Amongst the coves where pirates rove Daily catch is makers match Where red hot stoves hide fresh baked loaves Water men are thick and thin So often strove where shipmates hove Water child is often wild The treasure trove where pirates roved 19Mar14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem Dead Poets Their words. Like the softest cannon fire. Shrapnel finding every mark. In blood and brain and bone and heart. Leaving us to bleed for more. Till fire, now silenced turns to dark. 3/30/14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Rick Richardson Poem Ci Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky Haloed sundogs clinging to white mares’ tails Storied concentric glories way up high I’ll leave a soft rainbow colored contrail Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky Flying towards the sun’s healing golden crown Come and sing when you see me sailing by Let go the darkness and let light resound Sailing feathered clouds across the blue sky Shards of memories and rose colored ice My love my love my love let go the sigh Please remember me to the by and by 3March14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem Upon the Stones Upon the stones the lichen grows For those asleep in earth below And those awake who tears do weep To green the grass with sorrow’s seep To honor love their hearts bestow The lichen sleeps beneath the snow Through cold and ice of winter woe Awaits the warmth and summer’s creep Upon the stones the lichen grows In shadow rain or summer glow It hears the words of belle or beau It fears not time or grounds man’s sweep The lichen guards eternal sleep For here in each and every row Upon the stones the lichen grows 7Mar14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem Wall Was built a wall of loneliness The blocks were made of hopelessness No door, no gate, no openings A moat within the inner ring The sides sloped down to emptiness Was kept away the happiness With salty tears so copious The songbirds cried and took to wing Was built a wall of loneliness The sky lay down in weariness Grey clouds did tire of dreariness So steep the walls no vine could cling So cold the wall kept out the spring All hearts cried out in brokiness Was built a wall of loneliness. 26Mar14 Copyright © Rick Richardson | Year Posted 2014 Details | Rick Richardson Poem A Dog In My Garden His dog died, and that’s all there was to it. Except it wasn’t. Those words in between, the missing of a friend, the times relived; companion dog that did him in. Joyful. Bit his heart and made him write such words so right, that I went home and kissed my dog and played with her in the garden. And we both lay down in the dirt, and will again tonight, and every night. Until she sleeps. And I with Daisy. All because his dog died.

97

“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men” <> *”until I fell forward into fall where time is the fly and age the fisher of men, then when winter begins all will be forgotten, where time is the fly and age the fisher of men”* excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson <> that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me… boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred, and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of Yankee Stadium at age eight, oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete, and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age once and forever not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls, mine own is my best bait, hooked line and sinker, and wisdom and words elude and delude always, like summer is perpetual and aging a construct, time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with no ends ~postscript~ <> *yet I believe, in miracles of fish and loaves, and that our individual continuums will exist beyond the artifice of constraints of mortal time and that poems are the forever chemicals within our bloodstreams, even when our blood no longer spills* yet I believe!

0

Sep 6, 2023

Sep 6, 2023 at 7:57 AM UTC

path-humble

“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men“

“where time is the fly and age the fisher of men” <> *”until I fell forward into fall where time is the fly and age the fisher of men, then when winter begins all will be forgotten, where time is the fly and age the fisher of men”* excerpt from “The Fall” by Rick Richardson <> that words from a different ionic state, jump as embodied ions from screen to the throat, evicting a guttural current of exclamation, you believe even with the half-heartedly palpitations from remainder of my damaged pumping heart, that these words were always intended, just for me… boy and old man coexist, the pottage of memories stirred, and the time is fly, and I drown in the miracle of greenest grass of Yankee Stadium at age eight, oasis, heaven, a child reborn in a sea of Bronx concrete, and the swallowing up of my boyhood is forever marked henceforth, the hook has caught me, and I am of the age once and forever not a fisherman, but a fisher of men’s souls, mine own is my best bait, hooked line and sinker, and wisdom and words elude and delude always, like summer is perpetual and aging a construct, time does not fly, but slowly laps and waves eroding our myths and ourselves upon a continuum with no ends ~postscript~ <> *yet I believe, in miracles of fish and loaves, and that our individual continuums will exist beyond the artifice of constraints of mortal time and that poems are the forever chemicals within our bloodstreams, even when our blood no longer spills* yet I believe!

41

do you only feign stupidity while plotting ways to madden me?

0

Mar 22, 2015

Mar 22, 2015 at 12:26 AM UTC